


If You Want Me To Go, Then I'll Go

by monsterhugger



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Cuddling, Fluff, M/M, Post-S1, Worm Mentions, wound care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24571228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterhugger/pseuds/monsterhugger
Summary: Martin takes Jon home and cares of him after Jane Prentiss's attack. Jon is a prickly bastard but he's warming up to Martin.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 155





	If You Want Me To Go, Then I'll Go

Martin wasn’t going to let Jon out of his sight. He’d already made that mistake once, running on ahead and assuming Jon and Tim were behind him only to have them be filled with worms the moment he looked back. The holes that formed as the creatures burrowed inside were horrific. He’d watched as the things were gassed with CO2, going limp and falling to the floor, leaving awful patches of bleeding holes all over Jon and Tim’s flesh.

It was a bit unfortunate for Tim, but in that moment all Martin could think to do was kneel next to Jon, lift him up and cradle him in his lap, and rest a hand on his worm-bitten cheek. He half expected Jon to protest, grumble out an angry request for Martin to put him down, but he didn’t. Jon nuzzled into Martin’s hand, curling up in his lap. He was still like that by the time the paramedics arrived, and they had to practically rip Jon from Martin’s arms. Martin wasn’t allowed to check on Jon while he was being treated, the doctors were worried about the infestation spreading and were keeping him and Tim under quarantine, so Martin waited at the Institute in the hopes that Jon would come back to pick up his stuff.

Jon did return, limping and woozy from the painkillers. His breathing was laboured, his lungs still weak from CO2 inhalation. His arms (at least, what Martin could see of them) were wrapped in bandages, and he had a plaster on his cheek covering the patch of holes Martin had caressed before. He assumed the bandages covered Jon’s entire body, and he shivered at the thought. Jon didn’t have much to pick up from the office, anything he was wearing during Prentiss’s attack had been burned, and he didn’t keep much in the office anyway. Martin offered to help him gather things up, but Jon had only grumbled at him.

“I think you should come stay with me,” Martin said.

Jon turned to look at him, glaring.

“Really,” Martin insisted. “I don’t mean anything by it, of course, I just think you shouldn’t be alone right now. You’re in a lot of pain, you’re tired and you’re freaked out and… I just think it would be a good idea for you to stay with me until you’re feeling a bit better.”

“I feel fine, Martin.”

“You don’t look fine. Or sound fine. And frankly if you were fine after everything that just happened I’d think there was something wrong with you.”

“Alright. Maybe I’m a bit shaken up. And I am in quite a bit of pain, but that doesn’t mean I need your help.”

Martin looked at Jon with soft, sad eyes.

“But I want to help you. I want to take care of you.”

“Why?”

“Because I care about you! Is that really so hard to believe?”

“No. No, I suppose it isn’t,” Jon muttered, shaking his head. “Fine. I’ll come home with you. You can put me up on your couch and feed me cakes or whatever you intend to do.”

Martin blushed.

“Cakes?”

“You said you wanted to take care of me. I mean, you’re always bringing me tea while I’m recording statements, I figure this must be a dream come true for you.”

“Look, if you really want to be alone, you can go home yourself. I just think, in your state, it’s not the best idea.”

“No, you’re right. I’ll stay with you. I can’t promise I’ll stay long, but I guess I wouldn’t mind someone taking care of me right now.”

“Awww.” Martin put his arm over Jon’s shoulder and held him tightly, but Jon shrugged him off.

“None of _that,_ ” Jon grumbled. “Whatever you want this to be, it isn’t. It’s for my own safety and that’s it.”

“Alright,” Martin sighed, backing away.

Martin brought Jon to his couch, and Jon lied down on it after setting his many bottles of pain medication on the coffee table. Martin brought him a blanket, and Jon scowled, but he took it and wrapped it around himself.

“Can I get you anything else?” Martin asked. Jon shook his head, curling up under the blanket and resting his head on the arm of the couch.

However, Martin could not resist the urge to care for Jon. Jon really did have a point there. If he’d let him, Martin would’ve held Jon in his arms and brushed his hair and fed him cakes and cared for him day in and day out. He didn’t know what it was about that cynical asshole that ignited such a caring instinct in him, but he had always enjoyed bringing Jon tea or statements or tapes or whatever mundane little things he needed as he worked, and this really was a dream come true for him. Even if Jon had scowled at Martin every time he brought him a cup of tea, Martin always felt warm and happy.

He made two cups of tea-lemon ginger, not his favourite but very refreshing-and brought them into the living room. He saw Jon roll his eyes as he walked in with the mugs.

“I know you said not to bring you anything,” Martin said, setting the mug down on the coffee table. Jon glared at the mug, and then at Martin. “I was just making a cup for myself, and I figured I might as well. I can leave you alone now, if you’d like.”

“Just couldn’t help yourself, hm?” Jon grumbled. He picked up the mug of tea and took a sip. “It’s good. Thank you.”

Martin sat down on the floor on the other side of the coffee table. If Jon told him to leave, he’d leave, but until then he was going to stay right there and not let Jon out of his sight.

“Does it still hurt?” Martin asked.

“Yes, Martin,” Jon sighed. “It all hurts.”

“Sorry,” Martin muttered.

If Martin had a second couch, he likely would have slept in the living room that night. If he was a little more brash, he might’ve asked Jon to sleep in his bed with him. But he didn’t, and he wasn’t, so he went to bed alone. The whole time he thought of sleeping next to Jon.

He was awoken in the middle of the night by crying coming from his living room. His heart raced. Jon was in pain, there was something wrong, he couldn’t ignore that. Martin rushed out to the living room to find Jon shivering beneath the blanket. His face was pressed into the arm of the couch, but it did little to muffle the sounds of his crying.

Martin gently placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“Jon?” he said softly. “Jon, are you alright?”

Jon’s crying stopped, leaving only scared, shallow breaths in its place. Martin quickly drew his hand away.

“I think you were having a nightmare,” Martin said. “Sorry for touching you, I just thought I should wake you up.”

Jon didn’t say a word. He reached his hand out, and Martin took it, squeezing tightly. Jon’s eyelashes fluttered.

“Are you alright?” Martin asked.

“I’m… not sure,” Jon replied. His voice was shaky and soft.

“Do you need me to stay, or should I leave?”

“Stay,” Jon replied. He pulled Martin’s hand onto his chest. Martin felt his heart beating quickly and his chest rising and falling with shallow breath. He sat with Jon until he fell asleep again, his breathing a bit more regular and his heart no longer racing. Martin stayed a bit longer after Jon fell asleep, just in case he started crying again, but he seemed alright.

The next night, Martin was standing in the living room, saying goodnight to Jon before retiring to bed, when Jon sat up. He kept the blanket wrapped around his body and looked up at Martin.

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” Jon asked.

Martin’s mouth hung open in stunned silence.

“If it’s big enough, of course,” Jon said. “I don’t want to cuddle or anything, I just don’t want to be alone if I have another nightmare.”

“It’s plenty big!” Martin exclaimed, trying to hide his excitement. “Of course you can sleep in my bed, Jon.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Jon grumbled, carefully standing up. He winced at the pain.

“I’m not,” Martin replied. “Do you need me to help you along?”

“Y-yes, actually.”

Martin put his arm around Jon. Jon didn’t push him away this time. He leaned against Martin as they walked to his bedroom. It was only about ten paces, but with the way Jon collapsed into Martin’s bed you would have thought he’d just run a marathon.

Martin woke up in the middle of the night again, but this time it was to Jon tightly gripping his shirt. He had shifted closer to Martin during the night, and his head was now tucked beneath Martin’s chin. Martin didn’t mind this one bit. He wrapped his arms around Jon, pulling him closer, and the soft beat of Jon’s heart against his body was deeply comforting. When Jon awoke to find his body flush with Martin’s, he was hardly surprised. It felt good, really. He didn’t move for a while after that, and Martin was more than fine with that.

Jon slept in Martin’s bed for the remainder of that week. Martin hadn’t even realized he’d been dreading the day Jon went back to his own flat until the dread faded, confident Jon would be staying at least until his wounds were healed. Jon was already doing much better-he could walk around the flat without flinching in pain, and the nightmares had gotten better. He still curled up against Martin throughout the night. Martin still doted on him, and Jon had stopped grumbling whenever Martin brought him a cup of tea.

At the end of the week, Jon’s wounds were supposed to be healed enough to take the bandages off.

He’d removed the plasters from his face without much trouble, but he was apparently struggling when it came to taking the bandages off his arms. They were wrapped tightly, and it was hard to find an end to unravel them with only one hand. Or at least, that was how he’d explained it when he’d asked Martin to help him.

Martin had been doing the dishes at the time, and he’d been shocked to see Jon standing behind him without a shirt on when he turned around. It felt weird to find him attractive in that state, covered in bandages and patches of scabs, but Martin did somehow.

“Can you help me take these off?” Jon asked, tapping his bandaged arm.

“Y-yes,” Martin replied. He rinsed and dried his hands before guiding Jon to sit at the kitchen table. Martin knelt in front of him, taking one of Jon’s thin arms in his hand. He carefully unwrapped the bandages, and Jon flinched a little as he pulled the last of them off. The wounds beneath were scabbed over, and pulling the bandages off had tugged at the scabs a bit, making a few of the little holes start bleeding again.

“I can get you some band-aids after this,” Martin replied. “For the nasty ones.”

“Alright,” Jon replied. His hand shook a little as Martin unwrapped his other arm.

“I suppose you’ll want help with these, too?” Martin said, gesturing at the plasters on Jon’s chest.

“Yes, thank you,” Jon said. Martin carefully peeled away the medical tape, slowly pulling off the several plasters and revealing the patches of holes underneath. They looked better than they had before Jon had been taken to the hospital, but not much better. Jon hissed in pain every time Martin pulled a bandage off, and Martin apologized every time.

“You had some on your legs, too,” Martin said once Jon’s chest and back had been finished. “Did you need help with that?”

“N-no, I can handle that myself,” Jon replied. He stood up and walked back towards the bathroom. “Thank you, though.”

Martin smiled softly at him as he walked away, then went back to finish up the dishes.


End file.
